Quotes About Loss

Daedalus did not long outlive his son. His limbs turned grey, and all his strength was transmuted into smoke. I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation he was to me.

The death I had put into his hand.

Es esto lo que voy a echar de menos. Me mataré antes que perderlo», pensé, y luego me pregunté: «¿Cuánto tiempo tenemos?».

Do you want to be a god?" It was easier this time. "Not yet," he said. A tightness I had not known was there eased a little. I would not lose him yet.

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone

his beautiful body lost to bones and gray ash.

shine with pride. I knew how painful the death of that hope could be.

Have you no more memories?'

i would know him in death, at the end of the world

Within him, there was an ocean's worth of grief; which could only be stopped for a moment, never emptied.

Losses are not retrievable. They are not setbacks. In the blankness left, perhaps other things come, a new thing, a different shape for the last thing's recollection.

I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it.

We're nothing if we're not loved. When you meet somebody who is more important to you than yourself, that has to be the most important thing in life, really. And I think we are all striving for it in different ways. I also believe very, very strongly that everybody is the hero/heroine of his/her own life. I try to make my characters kind of ordinary, somebody that anybody could be. Because we've all had loves, perhaps love and loss, people can relate to my characters

It was quite possible that she had lost the capacity to love and care anymore and that this is how she was going to be for the rest of her life.

Dr. Kübler-Ross expanded on this theme in her 1961 book, On Death and Dying

She pressed the veil against her cheeks, letting it drink up her tears.

to wish to forget how much you loved someone—and then, to actually forget—can feel, at times, like the slaughter of a beautiful bird who chose, by nothing short of grace, to make a habitat of your heart.

But if I were honest, or if I were at least to bump into the limits of my honesty, I would have to admit that I knew exactly how this love would end from the moment it began. The loss was probably before it was possible.

This is how much I miss you talking. This is the deepest blue, talking, talking, always talking to you.

For to wish to forget how much you loved someone—and then, to actually forget—can feel, at times, like the slaughter of a beautiful bird who chose, by nothing short of grace, to make a habitat of your heart.

As her time grew near, your brother took her in. His family situation was under strain, but at least she had a bed there, her own room. It was almost good enough. But really none of it was good enough, even though it was better than many get. When she began to lose consciousness, your brother had her moved to a local hospice; you flew there in the dead of night, desperate to get there in time, so that she wouldn't die alone.

187. Is it a related form of aggrandizement, to inflate a heartbreak into a sort of allegory? Losing what one loves is simpler, more common, than that. More precise. One could leave it, too, as it is. -- Yet how can I explain, that every time I put a pin in the balloon of it, the balloon seems to swell back up as soon as I turn away from it?

How often I've imagined the bubble of body and breath you and I made, even though by now I can hardly remember what you look like, I can hardly see your face.

I am not yet sure how to sever the love from the lover without occasioning some degree of carnage.